I Love You Because I Turned Your Hair Purple
by foreverme98
Summary: Hermione has a date and someone isn't too happy about it. Set after the war. Fred didn't die. Short one-shot.
Hermione was about to blow. She'd taken all she could for one day, and really, she hadn't deserved any of it. All she had wanted to do was look nice for her date with Oliver Wood, and that meant she would have to do something with her crazy, completely untameable hair. After trying every Muggle hair solution her ingenious mind could think of, she'd run off to Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes, in the hopes that they could give her something that would take care of her problem.

4 hours later, after her trip to the joke shop, she was doing everything she could to keep the stupid tears at bay and failing miserably. So not only was her hair a horrible mess, her eyes were practically swollen shut due to all the tears she'd shed. And to make matters worse, Fred was outside the door begging her to let him in.

She had moved into the Weasley's home a few months ago because her parents still didn't even know they had a daughter, and it seemed better to keep it that way, at least for the time being. It hadn't been that long since the war had ended, and Hermione felt like she needed some time to get over everything that had happened. She thought that getting out there and looking for someone was a step in the right direction, which is why she'd accepted Oliver's invitation to dinner a few days ago when they'd run into each other at the Leaky Cauldron.

Oliver was an attractive young man and an ambitious one at that. He was well-read, thoughtful, and a well-liked person, and Hermione, at the time, couldn't think of a good enough reason to turn him down. Even the fact that his life was dedicated to Quidditch hadn't turned her off. It wasn't until the time of their date drew near that she started getting cold feet. Her overactive imagination had come up with a billion ways the date could go wrong and every one of her sick fantasies had ended with her making a fool of herself.

Well, Oliver hadn't even picked her up yet and _already_ she was a right mess. She knew that crying into her soggy pillow wasn't going to fix anything, and she certainly wasn't proud of herself, but she couldn't find the gumption to get up. Her stress level had reached a new high, and all she had left to give was a few half-hearted tears and a runny nose.

"Mi, please," Fred tried again, his voice reaching a new level of desperation.

 _Serves him right_ , she thought spitefully. This was all his fault. _He_ was the one who'd given her the blasted potion. _He_ was the one who'd promised she would have glorious hair after using it. _He_ was the one she'd went to in her time of need, and he had taken her trust and stomped on it until there was nothing left. He deserved more than the silent treatment, but lucky for him, she had little to no energy left.

"If you'll just let me in, I'll apologize to you properly," he wheedled.

Huffing, she sat up and magicked a tissue box to her side. She blew her nose and contemplated her next move. She could continue to ignore the annoying prat outside her door, or she could open it and box his ears in. At the moment, she was liking the latter option, though she supposed Mrs. Weasley wouldn't approve.

Regardless, she was tired of listening to him prattle on, so when she heard the door handle rattle, she pointed her wand at the lock, and watched the redheaded twin stumble inside. He caught himself before he fell on his face, which she found rather disappointing.

As soon as he righted himself, he looked at her from under his too-thick-if-you-asked-her eyelashes. He appeared to be remorseful, but she couldn't tell if it was because he truly felt bad, or if he just wanted to get back into her good graces before his mother found out what he'd done.

"Well?" she prompted impatiently. "What do you have to say for yourself, Fred?"

His eyes shifted from her hair to her eyes, and she just knew he was trying not to laugh, which only served to stir her ire further. Jumping to her feet, she stomped over to him and stopped just inches away from him.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Fred Weasley," she growled, pointing her finger at his chest.

A look she couldn't quite decipher flashed across his face before he masked it with his usual cheery expression. "I _am_ sorry, Mi. I was just trying to have a bit of fun," he defended.

She knew her face was turning an unsightly red because she could feel her skin heat up. "Fun?" she screeched. "You thought having a laugh at my expense, today of all days, would be fun?!"

He held his hands out, palms up. "It was a dumb thing to do, I know. It's just..."

Slapping her fisted hands on her waist, she waited to see what stupid excuse he was going to give her next.

"It's just..." he trailed off again.

Having enough of his stalling, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "It's just that you didn't care about how much this day meant to me. I told you this was a big step, and you _just didn't care_. I thought we were becoming friends." She sniffed. "I guess I was wrong."

Damn these tears! She didn't want to cry anymore, especially in front of him, but they seemed to have a mind of their own, so she swirled around and reached for the tissues, too embarrassed to continue her rant.

While she was busy wallowing in self-pity, Fred stalked to her side. She could feel his intense gaze drill a hole in the side of her head, but she was too stubborn to look at him.

He surprised her when he reached for her chin, and gently but firmly forced her to meet his eyes. The fierce anger in his brown eyes startled her, making her lose her breath. She'd never seen him so...infuriated before.

"Don't tell me how I feel, Mi," he said, his voice as hard as steel. "I _care_. That's the problem."

More than a little bewildered, she stared up at him while she tried to work out the emotions swimming in his expressive orbs. "I don't..." At a loss for words, she shook her head. "I don't understand."

Smirking, he ducked his head so that they were more level with each other. "Well, that's a first."

Before she had a chance to yell at him for the snarky comment, he sighed and encouraged her to sit with him on the bed. She acquiesced more out of confusion than anything. He wasn't acting like himself at all, and she wanted to know why.

"Haven't you wondered why I come home for lunch every day?" he questioned, exasperatedly amused. "Or why I'm always giving you bloody compliments?"

Sure, he came home for lunch, but what did that have to do with her? It wasn't like she was alone during that time of day. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were always around. As for the compliments, she'd thought he was just trying to help her feel better about her appearance. They became close after the war, and one night she'd opened up to him and told him about some of her insecurities. She'd thought he was trying to be a good friend.

"Not particularly," she admitted after giving it some thought.

He chuckled and watched her with a fond smile plastered on his freckled face. "For such a bright witch, you sure can be dense."

Offended, she leaned back. "Excuse me?"

Groaning, he trapped her hands in his. "And infuriating," he added. "But that's why I've fallen in love with you. I've always loved a challenge."

Heart pounding, blood rushing, Hermione could only gasp. She could feel her hands shaking in his, and she could feel the way time seemed to slow down, but she could only stare at him like an idiot while she attempted to wrap her head around what he'd just said.

"Mi?" he prompted, voice cracking. "I know you're probably surprised, but if you could say something, that would be fantastic. I mean, I probably don't deserve an answer after...The truth is, you mean so much to me, and I couldn't bear for you to go out with Olly. He's not nearly good enough for you, and-"

She felt her ability to speak return to her. "Fred!" His rambling came screeching to a halt.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she willed her heart to stop racing. "Are you telling me, you turned my hair neon purple because you love me?" she asked quietly, trying to understand.

For the first time since he entered the room, his face turned a bright red. "Well, simply put...yes."

"Why?"

"It seemed like the right course of action at the time," he replied, nervous and uncertain.

"I...you love me?" she asked again, still not able to believe it.

He swallowed hard. "Very much. I've been a bloody coward, but despite that-I do love you."

She fought a smile. "Fred Weasley, you're crazy."

"George would agree with you," he replied, grinning like a loon.

"I _should_ stay mad at you," she tried to scold.

Seeing right through the stern act, he reached over to cup her face. "Actually, you should be thanking me," he countered. "Your hair has never looked so good. I think purple suits you."

Indignant, she opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he slanted his mouth over hers, effectively shutting her up. And, surprisingly enough, she was okay with that.


End file.
